alone
by theywillliveon
Summary: Remus finds himself alone in a dark, tragic time. With all the hope drained out of him - despite the joy of everyone else in his world - he tries to understand what really happened on that fateful October night.


**ALONE**

 **Summary:** Remus finds himself alone in a dark, tragic time.

 **Disclaimer:** (sadly) I do not own any of these characters. I am borrowing them purely for the entertainment of myself and others.

* * *

 _{The Day Of}_

* * *

It is the day of the funeral, and Remus is alone.

He stands next to an empty seat, in the front row, and stares at the ground. He is the only one in his string of chairs. They are left vacant - as a sign of respect, he supposes - for those who will never be able to sit there. Those who have been taken, far, far too soon. There is no one left except him.

He is surrounded by people that he has never seen before in his life. Their faces are all blurred into one; full of sympathy, and sorrow, but for what? Remus is still sure that this isn't real.

He never thought it would get to this. All his Hogwarts life, he had, for once, felt like he belonged, like he was loved and cared for by people other than his parents. He never imagined that, through a series of terrible incidents, he would, ultimately, be the last one standing.

He is alone. And he still can't fully comprehend it.

The Ministry representative is saying something, on a raised platform next to the coffins.

Remus can't hear a word. His ears are filled with a buzzing noise, and his eyes are too tired to stay open for more than a second, and he just wants to sleep.

In his dreams, at least, he is at peace.

* * *

 _{A Week Before}_

* * *

His first thought is, _it can't be true._

He rereads the paper.

His second thought is, _no. No fucking way._

He reads the paper, again, his eyes skimming over the ink.

He doesn't have a third thought. He can't remember how to breathe; he just gets out his wand and, immediately, Apparates to Sirius' flat.

It is, of course, empty; Remus frowns, scanning the musty loft. The two adjoining rooms are in their usual state of combined mess and disarray; there are empty Firewhisky bottles scattered across the dining table, and several plates that have not yet been washed.

Remus moves closer to the table, and sees a copy of the Prophet, the edition he was reading not three minutes previously. His heart sinks into his stomach; as he studies the newspaper, he sees a single word next to the headline, scrawled in ink that is still drying.

 _Peter._

"Oh, _Merlin_ ," Remus groans out loud, and, blinking back the tears that are rapidly catching up with him, Apparates with no clear destination in mind, only with a single face imprinted in his eyes: Peter Pettigrew.

* * *

 _{A Scene of Destruction}_

* * *

He is too late, of course. The young werewolf regards the scene laid out before him with a burning sensation in the back of his throat, that spreads all the way down to his heart. There are people - _bodies_ \- strewn across the street, corpses that are missing limbs, corpses that are still leaking blood onto the cracked pavement. His mouth is half open in horror; already, there are those whom he recognises to be Ministry officials tentatively examining the area.

He sees _him_ , then, with his mouth curved upward in a wild grin. A mop of dark, curly black hair, and eyes that are filled with agony and despair. He is laughing - _laughing_ , Remus realises - and he looks utterly insane. Remus begins to understand. The dark eyes latch onto the amber ones, and then they are running, running towards each other, and suddenly, they are both crying, and Remus stops his legs from carrying him any further. The wizards from the Ministry have spotted Sirius, and Remus pales.

"You," he whispers. The distance between him and his - former - friend is surely over ten metres, yet suddenly it closes in on them, until Remus is sure they are only inches apart.

"No," Sirius says, urgently. "No, Remus, not me, please you have to believe me -"

The other man cuts him off.

"You killed them," he mutters.

Sirius' face turns a pasty white colour, and his eyes are wide with fear.

"No, Remus, it was him, it was Peter, there was a switch, and we -"

But the Ministry wizards are behind him now, and are dragging him away, and Sirius is yelling at Remus, pleading with the werewolf to believe him, and Remus is just standing there, frozen, and Sirius is screaming now, and Remus can't bear to look at him because Lily is dead and James is dead and Peter is dead and Sirius may as well be and it's too late, and Sirius is gone and it's too late, it's too late -

They are all gone, and Remus is alone.

* * *

 _{After the Funeral}_

* * *

He knows what they are saying, about his best friends.

One a brave, brave man, who died for those he loved.

One a traitor, who betrayed the ones who loved him most.

One a coward-turned-hero, who faced the traitor, with little to defend himself.

The question is, who is who?

 _They_ think they know, but, after all, who can be sure?

Remus doesn't know.

He thinks about Sirius' last words to him, and he doesn't understand.

Peter was the traitor? Peter?

The coward - for lack of better word - who never had an original thought? The boy who was simply boring, an average wizard with average grades and average looks and average capabilities. He was nothing special; he was a clone of everybody else who never really did anything with their lives. But he was loyal, and would never go against the ones he cared about. He wasn't reckless, like Sirius, or so easily bored, like James, or even as careful as Remus. He was just - nothing.

Remus feels horrible for thinking of his best friend in such ways. But he still doesn't understand.

After all, to Remus, straightforward-thinking, logical Remus, it seems much more likely that Sirius was the traitor.

Sirius, the boy who once skinny dipped in the Great Lake at midnight during the middle of winter, the boy who rode a flying motorcycle over half of the English countryside, the boy who was rash and irresponsible and brash and audacious and smart, and funny, and loyal, always, always loyal to those he loved.

 _Loyal._

The Sirius Remus knew would never - _never_ \- betray his best friend like that. But nor would Peter.

Peter always went along with the crowd; Sirius was always a leader - complete opposites. Sirius would never abide to anyone else's rules.

But the papers say that it was Sirius, and Remus has no choice but to believe them.

* * *

 _{Final Thoughts}_

* * *

It is the night of the funeral, and Remus is lying in bed, awake.

His feet are cold. Sighing, he rolls his stiff body over and grabs another blanket from the chair placed next to his head.

He doesn't know where he'll go next. The Order is no longer; after all, there is no one to defeat anymore.

The boy was taken to his aunt and uncle, Dumbledore has told him.

Remus wonders whether he should have made any protests against this. James would be disappointed in him, he knows. But he is a coward. He doesn't want the responsibility of raising a child - let alone one belonging to his best friend. There is too much that would remind him of - of everything, and Remus is too scared.

The pictures from Hogwarts have been removed from the walls. Remus can't bear to be burdened with his own memories anymore.

Groaning now, he tosses and turns erratically, his eyes drifting over the bare walls of his room. He wonders if this is some kind of punishment, him being left, untouched, having to simply wait through years of agony until his own departure of this world. His stomach rumbles, and he tries to remember the last time he ate anything. His brain is blank. He decides he doesn't care.

Tendrils of sleep curl through his ears, and he obligingly shuts his eyes gently. Real life can wait; for now, he can escape to another place, a place where he is happy, and smiling, and so full of life and love that a smile creeps onto his almost-unconscious face.

The last thought that runs through his head before his mind drifts far, far away is: _Peter always went along with the crowd._

And there is a realisation, somewhere deep inside Remus' soul, but he is too far embedded within the world of the dreaming, and when he wakes, he can no longer remember what his mind told him. He doesn't remember that the traitor is not the traitor, and the innocent is the guilty. That will, over time, come back to him, but not for twelve long, long years.

He only remembers that he is, still, alone.


End file.
